Writing is Growth

When I started writing erotic romance, sex was the focus. Glorious uninhibited sex scenes with all the descriptive words that made the action come alive. (Heh–no pun intended) For a person like me emerging from a very conservative, religious family, this was a breakout moment.

Now, looking back, I’m not completely thrilled with the result. Oh, don’t get me wrong—the sex scenes are smokin’. But that’s simply not enough.

Stories of any kind are about people. And people are more than sex. While I managed to create compelling sex scenes, I didn’t manage to create compelling life scenes.

So I’ve decided to dive into revising a couple of my early novels with a greater focus on the personal struggle facing the characters. I’m adding scenes that show how they deal with adversity. I’m showing how they grow in the process of facing difficulties, how they develop more self-confidence or come to grips with challenges both internal and external.

This is a thrilling process, delving into the character with greater willingness to sit at my desk and think about them to let their personalities take full form. Before, although there were strong storylines and situational drama, there wasn’t as much depth to the characters as they needed. I’m letting myself feel them now, where they came from, what they worry about, care about, more than the person with whom they’re having sex.

My previous mindset about all this was that sex was the key motivating element. Sex was the transformative event that broke the character from his/her previous point of view and propelled them into a new paradigm. Yes, this is important.

But it’s not enough to be the main thing. I admit it kind of breaks my heart to say that because I’ve always seen sex as having the potential to do exactly that. It still does have that potential, but it’s like a really lovely slab of chocolate cake. It doesn’t make a meal.

It’s exciting to dig deeper and important enough that I can justify taking the time to go the next mile with revision rather than plunging into yet another new story. This learning process about creating stories with rich character and complex plot lines is an important one for any author.

Writing is a multi-phase, multi-layered endeavor. Creating something meaningful out of thin air isn’t an easy pursuit, and it is as much about looking deeper into oneself as it is about thinking up story details. After all, inside our minds and our life experience is where our stories come from. I’m happy to see where I stand on the long road toward ‘great.’

And yes, ‘great’ is my goal!

Happy writing in the new year, everyone.

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Jarrod Bancroft: The Novel

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Bryn McClure is running out of time. With foreclosure in the last stages, she’s about to lose the beloved twelve-hundred acre Ozark farm she inherited from her grandparents. Her desperate last hope is to sell hunting rights for deer season.

Alex Cannon is running out of options. After a humiliating discovery about his wife, Alex’s cousin and property development business partner Dan has spiraled into a life-threatening depression. Alex hatches a brilliant idea of what might help Dan, and on advice from an old friend, contacts Bryn. A hunting trip might be the perfect route to a new outlook for Dan, especially with the extra touch Alex wants from Bryn.

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Apocalyptic Romance

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Okay, 2016 is over. Hopefully we’re not barreling toward a complete apocalypse. I kind of predicted this in my House of Rae series. The good news? Sex for hire is legal. The bad news? The world is on fire.

Here’s an excerpt from Book I, Salvation, set in 2060. Smashwords coupon WF94N puts this book at $1.99 (half price) through January 5. This is not a cliffhanger, fully standalone. Don’t miss it!

~~~

Lu wrangled his vintage Harley through heavy Kansas City traffic of early evening, coming in off Oak Ridge Road and onto the Loop for several miles before exiting to Ward Parkway. Red taillights and blue-white headlights glared on his face. The rushing air dried and heated his skin, poured over his head and pounded like a hard massage, whipping his clothes and hair.

A car whizzed past with its moto-tunes turned up way beyond the legal limit. Kids. Lu laughed. Night had always been their time to play. Off to the left, light poured up from one of the sports arenas. Like so many other activities, sports happened now in the protection of night. Construction, road repairs, athletics—anything that took place outside had become too dangerous in full sun. The mixing of worlds remained a congested and uneasy one with nighttime recreation now butting heads with work hours for so many.

The venerable Plaza district vibrated with activity. He loved the art deco buildings with their decorated facades and ornamental towers. A European village atmosphere made the shops and restaurants a uniquely appealing destination in the old town. People clustered along the sidewalks and around the splashing fountains and their bronze statuary—a mermaid blowing her conch, bare-breasted Pomona clutching ripe fruit, Poseidon amid rampant stallions. Lu parked the Harley and started toward the dance hall.

Absently, he looked at faces as he ducked and shouldered his way through the crowds. The mood here buoyed him. It had been one of the first places in the state to embrace the new agenda with buildings that accommodated energy collection and direction. The Plaza Energy Center had become a healing mecca for people from all over the region as well as the gathering and distribution point for energy sent out over the grid. Even now, he could see people crowding the entry to the three-story building and feel the buzzing furor of the energy healing process underway there. Above the roof, the air crackled. If he ever had time, he wanted to see the stats showing how much of the metro area population was covered by the Plaza grid. It had to be a major contributor, and that gave him deep satisfaction.

At the glossy red doors of Figaro’s, Lu waited in line until he faced the muscled attendant.

“Tiberius.” He grinned at the big man.

“Hi Lu, good to see you.” Tiberius flipped the switch and the door opened.

Lu pushed through the doorway and stood momentarily in the lobby.  Music crashed through from all directions, momentarily louder when one of several doors opened. The walls glistened and throbbed with a kaleidoscope of lights and sound. People came and went: men in tuxedos escorting elegant women in silk gowns, a cluster of enthusiastic young people with wildly coiled hair and fake buckskin clothing, two women with jeweled bracelets and ruffled flamenco skirts.

“Lu!”

He turned as he recognized the voice.

“Randy, how have you been?” He embraced the older man and exchanged a quick hug with the woman beside him. “Amber. You guys working a shift here?”

Randy nodded. The braid of his long reddish hair had partly frizzed out around his ears and neck, creating a coppery halo. “Tiring, though, for old geezers like us. Lots of energy pouring up the lines.”

They laughed, enjoying the company.

“Hell, it’s tiring even for young geezers,” Lu observed. “New adept at the House—and we need to hire at least another two subs.”

Amber nodded. “Next shift is training a new one here, lots of good people learning these skills. All the institute branches have waiting lists, especially for the dimensional stuff. Really gives me a lot of hope.”

“Me, too. But I wish science would catch up with us. What the hell is a dimensional shift, anyway? Are we hallucinating or are we really jumping past the fourth dimension?” Lu shook his head.

“I know, it bothers me, too,” Randy agreed. “Makes me wonder what we’re missing. I think we could be accomplishing more.”

“Need some kind of get together one of these days,” Lu said as they started their separate ways.

“Absolutely,” Amber called back, her long turquoise and pink skirts flaring as she strode off.

Lu smoothed back his hair, straightened the white silk shirt, and brushed his hands against his black slacks before pushing through the door marked “Tango.” Subdued light outlined the long room and its crowded dance floor. Once inside, all the building’s other music and noise died away leaving only the compelling strains of “Gallo Ciego.” He cruised along the tables of people before stopping by a woman sitting alone. Her dark eyes settled on him.

He bent at the waist in a formal bow. “Lieutenant Whitman.”

“Mr. Haverson.” She gave her hand, standing and smiling as they strolled to the dance floor without talking.

Her long fitted dress split to the hip, framing her left leg in shimmering yellow. Lu dropped her back against his arm, waited for the beat, and then they were off. Their dance with its rigid poses and abrupt turns became another of the many on the gleaming dance floor, elongated and rhythmic as their bodies pulsed to the tight drum and guitar thrums. Her skin brushed along his, her legs matched his steps thigh to thigh.

After a time, when their breath had quickened and outpaced the pulse of the music, they returned to the table.

“Fabulous, Lu,” she said, fanning herself with her hand and sipping from her tall frosted glass. “Been too long.”

“My pleasure, Cass. I love dancing with you.”

“Now, of course, you want to know what I found.”

“Yes.” Lu leaned forward, apprehensive about what she would say.

“Nothing. That’s the short answer. The long answer is a wreck about four days ago out on I-70 East. Might be a terrorism connection. The guy carried large quantities of explosives, looks like C-4, but the event didn’t leave a lot to pick through. Domestic thinks there was some kind of self-destruct mechanism involved. Driver evidently fell asleep, wrapped his ass quite neatly around an overpass support.”

~~~

And now, a glimpse of the bad boy of our tale, Josh Carter:

josh-improved

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In one day’s time, Caerwin’s life changes forever. Everything she knows is lost in a vicious bloody battle—her family with its network of kinsmen, her home at the bustling hillfort of western Britannia, her ancient way of life as a Celt. Reeling in shock, her wrists and ankles bound, she faces the man responsible.

She spits at his greeting and vows to kill him.

Marcellus, commander of Rome’s Legion XIV Gemina, spares this fiery young beauty from the slave traders who take away survivors of her tribe. War hardened and even more inured by Imperial Rome’s dissolute ways, he’s drawn to her innocence.

He wants her. He’ll make her his no matter what it takes.

Contest ends at Midnight Saturday July 30. Adults only due to explicit and occasionally dark sexual content.

A Scene in the Forum

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Image of Rome’s Forum circa 312 AD. A rendering developed through the auspices of the University of Texas, Austin. See http://teachingwithoutpants.blogspot.com/2015/05/the-ruin-of-rome-or-something-happened.html

Once the priests had offered prayers and the sacrifices had been made, the crowd moved slowly outside. With his arm firmly wrapped around Caerwin’s waist, Marcellus stopped on the temple steps looking over the brightly garbed crowds still thronging the plaza. Surrounding the Forum, the great temples, statues, and official buildings of the Roman Empire stood like sentinels. Fountains splashed in brilliant sunlight. In the distance, the hills of Rome gleamed with their buildings, streets, and greenery.

Nothing in her life had been this overpowering. The city, the empire, all of it seemed summed up in this man standing beside her with his strength and beauty, his internal conflicts and passions. His easy use of violence. His knowledge of all things. His absolute power to conquer and hold her.

They descended the steps and walked a short distance. His head turned sharply and he looked down on her as if to speak. His face, which had become thinner in the last weeks, lightened with a tender expression. For a breathless moment, Caerwin thought he would kiss her or speak words of love.

She would say what she longed to say. “Marcellus, I…”

His gaze shifted to a person standing nearby and his face hardened. “Vedius,” he said, raising his voice over the clamor. “Yo Saturnalia!”

Excerpted from Caerwin & Marcellus, the sequel to Caerwin and the Roman Dog. Coming soon! Watch for a special offer.

Caerwin and Marcellus

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COMING SOON! Release date to be announced soon.

Finished! A week ago, I finished writing the last page of the second novel about Caerwin. I’ve been sad ever since. How do you live with two compelling characters for over two years and not get attached? I’ve watched them grow, fight, suffer, and grow some more. Now they become part of my past. I’ll miss them.

Truth be told, I’ll miss more than Caerwin, Marcellus, and supporting cast. I’ve been immersed in Imperial Rome with all its triumphs, perversions, violence, and accomplishments. The fascinating world that was Rome endured a thousand years. Looking back on those years, the progress of their culture, and the countless ways in which we today follow in their footsteps is both depressing and exhilarating. It’s impossible to imagine where we would be today without Rome.

While I sing Rome’s praises, I also recognize how much better we are today than the people of Rome. For one thing, we don’t accept slavery as the norm. Rome’s social class system included the ‘noble’ classes (patricians and equestrians) who considered work beneath them. They held the bulk of the empire’s wealth, controlled its government and industries, and owned both city houses and country villas. The plebian class, roughly equivalent to our middle class, were the freeborn men or freedmen who worked every day to sustain the modest circumstances in which they lived.

Then there were the slaves, vast numbers of persons captured in Rome’s relentless military expansion over most of the known world. Wealthy household might have as many as 300 slaves. Slaves were like livestock or furniture–zero rights. Could be raped, branded, or killed without consequence. Yet they could also become part of a family, cared for, and often freed to live as freedmen (and women).

So while we can thank Rome for establishing the foundations of our legal system, our economic system, our tradition of the arts, social customs, and more, we can also thank the people who came after–from the Dark Ages to the Middle Ages to the Renaissance and down to those who fight each generation for better working conditions, more social justice, refinements of law and wage equity for the conditions we live in today. It’s a sobering perspective.

And this, dear friends, is why writing historical fiction will always be part of my writing experience.